


"How to Fall in Love in a Month" by Santana Lopez

by EverShadow



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverShadow/pseuds/EverShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What starts as a drunken hookup leads to a shaky agreement, and it's only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"How to Fall in Love in a Month" by Santana Lopez

Everything is hysterical. Everything. Even the pain in Santana's knee when she drunkenly stumbled and fell _up_ the steps is hilarious. Quinn's hands are on her arms, futilely trying to steady herself, but it's like propping a wobbly chair on top of another and they both go down to the ground.

Santana's nerves are buzzing with the alcohol and she can tell that her counterpart is no better by the redness on her cheeks. She opens her mouth to make a joke, that Quinn must be half asian or something because she's blushing like Tina after a single beer. They get to their feet and Santana turns her head just a moment to fumble with a water bottle because damn her throat is parched.

She feels pressure on her ear, and she drops the bottle on the ground when she realizes after a few seconds of calculation that Quinn had just bit her ear. Her head jerks towards Quinn, and she knows that the smirk playing on Quinn's face was smug satisfaction at her bewilderment. Santana sways - though she will insist later that she was leaning in, and that Quinn most certainly did not make the first move - and Quinn meets her partway. Her hands fly to the back of Quinn's neck and they're devouring each other's lips, frantically, drunkenly, and desperately. Santana pulls away, just so that she can pick up the water, but Quinn mistakes it for second guessing and yanks Santana by the hair back to her. There's a bright burst of pain, and blood seeps between their mouths when Santana breaks her lip on Quinn's teeth in a mismatched, poorly aimed, tipsy kiss. But the booze in her veins numbs the pain, and the lime from the tequila has already deadened her taste buds to the metallic taste of blood.

She can't remember how she managed to grab the water, only that it's in her hands when they're kissing again. Quinn's head dips to Santana's neck, and this time all the martinis and tequila in the world can't numb the feel of Quinn's teeth sinking into Santana's skin with vengeance. _Oh. Quinn is a biter._

Sobering up is an extensive process, one that finds Santana holding Quinn, with Quinn’s head tucked just to the left of her collarbone. She blinks into the morning light and her stirring wakes Quinn up as well. Their eyes meet, and they burst into laughter.

“That was...” Santana begins.

“A terrible idea.” Quinn finishes. They’d spoken those words over and over the night previous, in between when Santana was making Quinn gasp and moan, and Quinn making Santana scream. Santana sits up in bed and regards the battle wounds she’s acquired over the night. There’s a welt on her stomach, several on her neck that can’t be explained away without involving some sort of grizzly bear, and her back hurts from where Quinn’s “straight girl” nails left deep scratches that will surely take at least two days to heal. When Quinn follows Santana’s gaze, she whistles low.

“I did a good job.” She says proudly, as her fingers graze a particularly large, mouth shaped bruise right under Santana’s left breast.

“And how am I going to explain these to the next girl I sleep with?” Santana asks in mock anger. She’s half serious, half plain impressed at her handiwork, and completely taken aback that Quinn, who had been so “saintly” not too long ago, had a biting fetish. There are purple circles on her thighs and hip that show the biting thing works both ways.

“Just tell them you were clumsy.” Quinn says before tucking herself right under Santana’s arm.

“So, we’re not doing this again, right?” Santana asks. When Quinn doesn’t respond right away, Santana scoots away and stares at her. “ _Right?_ ”

“I dunno, I mean, I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, but damn is the sex good.”

“It’s the aggression thing...the need to top one another, in more ways than one.” Santana agrees. She’s been hanging around one too many a lesbian _not_ to know where this is going.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you’re going to be in New York, and I’m going to be in Connecticut, maybe we can just meet up on weekends and have a good time, until one of us finds someone serious, you know? Like a backup, like a plan b...”

“Like friends with benefits.” Santana has to choke down a laugh because even though her time at college was brief, she’s seen where friends with benefits goes.

She has to choke down tears when she remembers that’s how she and Brittany started.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t want to date you.”

“And I don’t want to date you either.” Santana responds reflexively. Quinn grins and leaps on top of Santana and presses her wrists down into the mattress.

“Then it’s ok?” There’s a whisper of caution in her head that’s quickly burned away by the fire in her belly when Quinn’s hand dips under the covers.

~**~

Somehow it doesn’t surprise Santana when Quinn sexts her two days after she’s left for Yale again. She has to get a glass of water when she starts choking after reading it. _I’ll have you on your stomach, making you beg with your whole body for me._

“You ok, Santana?” Kurt asks when Santana dissolves into a fit.

“Just fine, just fine.” She manages before disappearing into her room.

 _I want you so bad._ She texts back furiously.

_I know._

Then, a half an hour later,

 _There’s a coed mixer on Friday. You wanna come be my backup plan in case I don’t meet anyone?_ Santana stares at the text. It should bother her, the word “backup”. She wants to text back that Santana Lopez is no one’s backup, but she doesn’t think too much about it. All she can think of was just how amazing it was to have someone who already knows your body just based on the conversations you had back when you were friends without the benefits. It’s too tempting for her not to go.

_You got it._

Santana spends the whole weekend there. Of course Quinn doesn’t go home with anyone else. Santana’s hands are on her at midnight, and Quinn fights it for all of a minute, because some cute guy was waving at her, before Santana whispers all the things she knows how to do that he doesn’t and they slip away.

Quinn takes notice that her marks from the weekend previous had faded. Santana lets her renew her lease on her body.

When they wake up in the morning, it’s because both have a wicked hangover at 5. Santana groans into Quinn’s pillow and Quinn presses a kiss to Santana’s head.

“Let’s get some breakfast down at the corner.” Quinn says, pulling Santana out of bed. Santana looks up at her with a smile and Quinn leans down to kiss her good morning.

It startles her when Quinn slips her hand into Santana’s pocket, seeking out hers for warmth and physical closeness. Their fingers weave together, and a bell rings in the back of Santana’s mind. _This isn’t what fuck buddies do._ But she lets her, because she thinks she can step back and assess how she feels, and right now she’s in the green. She’s ok, she tells herself. They’re not going to like each other, they’ve always hated each other.

~**~

 _Little Talks_ , as sung by Of Monsters and Men comes on the radio, and Quinn’s eyes brighten. She dials the radio up and starts humming along. Santana watches and listens.

“I love this song.” Quinn says, glancing over.

“You’ve always had a great voice.” Santana remarks. Quinn scoffs at the compliment. “I mean, it’s not mine, but it’s nice.” They’re at a stalemate for half the car ride back to New York until they hit traffic right before they enter the city. Quinn groans and Santana coyly slips her hand between Quinn’s leg.

“I know how to distract you from traffic.” Santana says with a grin. Quinn grabs Santana’s hands, though not before her eyes roll into her head briefly, and just holds Santana’s hand at her thigh. She says nothing for a whole mile, a whole thirty minutes sitting in the line of cars before she opens her mouth and spoils the mood.

“You don’t want to date, right?” Santana pauses and pulls her hand away from Quinn’s tight grasp. She hadn’t thought about it, and she made it a point not to. Thinking too much would ruin whatever platonic agreement they had. Thinking would make her realize that they’d spent all weekend together, and not just fucking, but cuddling and watching stupid TV shows, and falling asleep together without exhausting each other.

Thinking makes her realize it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Right.” Santana replies, and that is the end of the conversation.

~**~

“I like you, Santana.” Quinn says with a bright smile. Her skin slides against Santana’s Thursday night, right after they’ve tried out new positions that her past boyfriends were either too vanilla to do, or simply did not have the right anatomy to do so. Santana’s blood freezes inside her, and she scrambles to collect her feelings before they threaten to escape her locked down heart. _No,_ she thinks harshly. _Not since Brittany._

“I like you too, I guess.” Santana says, trying to convey that it was a friendship “like” through her casual tone. Quinn adjusts her head, her chin resting on Santana’s sternum.

“You are gorgeous.” She whispers and Santana can feel her throat vibrate against her chest.

“Are you always this sappy after sex?” She says, doing her best to brush it off. Quinn rolls off of her and kisses her on the cheek.

“No, just with people I like.” Quinn says and Santana stumbles internally. What she imagines to be like overexcited sheep, she lets her iron grip on her heart loosen, and some of the feelings scramble away.

_I’m still ok. Maybe in the yellow, but I’m still ok._

~**~

“I like you too.” She’s spent yet another weekend sleeping in Quinn’s bed, staring into her eyes. She doesn’t want to go home on Monday, she wants to spend more time there and it’s apparent that if there was a line between friends with benefits, and where they stand now, they’ve crossed it a while ago when Quinn said, “I like you.” Quinn looks up from drying her hair to where Santana sat on her bed, dressed in Quinn’s clothes with her hair disheveled.

“And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about dating you.”

“I’m not really in a place to date anyone right now.” Quinn replies, taking the spot next to Santana. “I mean, I just found out my professor actually isn’t divorcing his wife, so I’m really, I’m just not in that place.” Santana’s walls go up instinctively, but they’re flimsy, and Santana knows it.

“I mean, who didn’t see that coming?” Santana remarks sarcastically. Quinn flashes her an angry glare, and Santana mistakes it for actual anger. “I didn’t...” Quinn pins her to the bed and bites her shoulder hard, and it turns Santana on like no other. Brittany was never so rough.

“How about you shut up?” Quinn hisses before her teeth find a patch of unblemished skin.

~**~

She’s in the red and in denial by the fourth weekend. She’s addicted to everything Quinn does, and it pains her when Quinn texts her to say she can’t make their usual Friday because she has a date. It’s a different guy than the one who took her out on Tuesday, when Santana wasn’t there to protectively stake her claim on a girl she tried so hard to convince herself she felt nothing towards.

She doesn’t get to see Quinn until Sunday, and when they kiss, she knows she’s in big trouble because it’s not their usual frantic, “let’s get our clothes off and fuck each other blind” kiss. She’s hesitated too long, and she lingers.

The sex isn’t even that good, because suddenly Santana has no idea what to do anymore. Suddenly she’s scared of hurting Quinn when she bites her, or fucks her too rough. It’s ironic, that feelings should make the sex worse, and being just friends with no care about impressing the other made it so amazing. Quinn notices it too, how Santana’s softened, and is treating her too delicately. It’s not bliss when they finish, it’s not going to be the same.

“Am I an option?” Santana asks. Quinn breathes in deep, and starts dressing. It’s not like Quinn to do that. she’s a cuddler, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it publicly.

“Santana...I told you, it’s not that I don’t like you, I’m just not ready.” She bites her lip, and Santana’s heart sinks. “Santana, I like you, I just...I don’t know if I like you that way.”

“Ok.” Santana slouches on the bed. She can’t deny it any longer, and she knows better than to keep a failing thing going. “Then...I think we’re done here. I can’t do this anymore.” Quinn’s eyes lock onto hers. Quinn surges forward and crushes their lips together hard. Santana pushes her away and raises her hand to slap her. But whatever anger, whatever hate they had before is gone. There is only hurt. And Quinn kisses her again.

“Fuck you.” Santana hisses before pressing her down onto the bed again.

~**~

She takes the train back to New York where she collapses on the couch of Rachel and Kurt’s apartment in tears. They’re by her side immediately, comforting her, telling her she deserved better, deserved someone who actually would love her, and not just lead her on and use her. But how could Santana make them understand the history they had? How this had been a long overdue thing, and how Quinn made her glimpse something more, only to have it torn from under her.

She cries until Rachel and Kurt start tag-team singing to cheer her up, starting with Frank Sinatra, which neither could do well, to boy bands, which was so bad that Santana couldn’t help but laugh. She dismisses them when one day bleeds into the next.

“We love you, Santana.” Rachel says, holding her hand. Santana smiles and squeezes Rachel’s fingers.

“I’ll be fine.” She says before getting up and going to brush her teeth.

The bathroom light proves unflattering to her smudged makeup, swollen eyes and puffy cheeks. She washes away her eyeliner and strips down to her underwear. She can see fresh marks on her chest and neck, and she looks down to see another one on her hip. Her fingers graze over them, and she winces when, despite her pleas to God, they are indeed bruises and not just some stray paint, or dust.

She laughs a little at how pitiful she’s become. That Quinn of all people could unravel her in a month when it took Brittany years to do. She realizes that she’s actually heartbroken over what wasn’t even a relationship. It was just some over extended fling from a drunk night. And she’s fucking _heartbroken._

She wonders if this will leave her colder than before, but she knows it’s not the case. The hurt will make her walls stronger, but will make whatever is behind those walls - a raw, scarred heart - a little bit weaker; it’ll be a little bit more vulnerable, and a lot easier to hurt.

She twirls in front of the mirror to give her body another good look, and she finds two more marks on her back, and suddenly she feels every bit as claimed as she looks. But there’s one, right in the middle of her shoulder blade, that Quinn left a week ago. It’s yellow, and large, but it’s healing, and in time she won’t even remember it.

 _That’s what the rest will do._ She thinks as she slowly dresses again. _They’ll fade._

_**Fin** _


End file.
